


now i'm quieter than i thought i'd be

by librarby



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, No beta we die like archival assistants, Trans Georgie Barker, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, its a small mention but its there, miss barker is simply too sexy to be cisgender, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarby/pseuds/librarby
Summary: Instead of saying something sensible like ‘Good idea, Georgie’, or ‘Thank you for thinking of that, Georgie’, or even ‘Georgie, you are a saint among women for letting me into your flat while I was covered in blood’, what actually comes out of Jon’s mouth is “Why on earth do you still have that?”[title from a big day for grimley by ajj]
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 24
Kudos: 235





	now i'm quieter than i thought i'd be

When Jon at last reaches Georgie Barker’s front door, eyes darting wildly and shivering, she grabs him by the sleeve and yanks him inside before he can even attempt to explain why he’s come.

“Whose blood is this?” she asks in that same even, stern tone that she’d use back in uni when he’d pull all-nighters studying. She’s gesturing to the long, dark stripe of Leitner’s blood on the front of his shirt. 

Jon swallows, trying to stop the shaking in his hands. “Not mine.” He says. He knows he should say more, explain himself, but it’s all he can get out before his mind crashes.

Georgie doesn’t seem content with that answer but doesn’t press, continuing to pull him through her flat. He allows himself to be led, barely registering the movement until they’re in a small bathroom.

“Drop your clothes outside the door.” Georgie says, leaning over to turn the shower on. “I’ll see if I can find something that’ll fit you.” 

“Okay.” Jon starts pulling off his shirt before she’s even left, too exhausted and panicky to particularly care about undressing in front of his ex-girlfriend. 

She thankfully doesn’t mention it, just sticks her hand under the spray to confirm that it’s hot. When she’s satisfied with the temperature, she produces a towel out of nowhere and tells him to call if he needs anything, closing the door behind her.

Jon stands there for a moment, in just his trousers and binder, and takes a deep breath. Georgie’s shower is much noisier than the one in his own flat but he can still hear her outside, shuffling through drawers. He momentarily considers bolting but he knows there’s nowhere else he can go. 

He finally peels off the rest of his layers and drops them outside. The water is actually a bit hot (he remembers how much Georgie likes warm showers) but it doesn’t really register as he stands under it.

There’s two bottles of shampoo in Georgie’s shower: one with coconut oil that’s clearly meant for her curls and another, smaller bottle that appears to be for straighter hair. He selects the latter and massages onto his head. Georgie would kill him if she knew that he regressed back to using two-in-one after they broke up (“Jonathan, I will support you in whoever you chose to be, but I will simply not allow you to become one of _those_ men”). 

His hair is in knots, but he manages to get some conditioner through it and comb some of the snarls out with his fingers. It’s oddly meditative, the repeated motion helping to even out his breathing. He knows he probably needs a haircut, but that’s the least of his worries right now. 

Even after washing away the spots of dried blood on his arms, Jon stands under the water for a few extra minutes, staring blankly at the wall and taking stock of his current situation. He has no friends or allies (besides Georgie), no flat (he’d left his keys at work during the whole fleeing-from-a-crime-scene thing), and no income or job (becoming a murder suspect probably gets you fired). Leitner had told him about these great powers, these _entities_ that controlled fear, but he had no way to research them, not without the Institute’s library or the statements. He can’t even do his testosterone injections, not with all his supplies sitting in a basket in his flat’s bathroom. 

For some odd reason, that fact hits him the hardest. 

After some more deep breaths, Jon forces himself to shut the water off and climb out. He dries his hair with the towel, essentially tangling it up again, before wrapping it around himself and opening the bathroom door. His clothes are still there, thank god, and he bends down to shuffle through them until he finds his binder.

“Great, you’re done. I’ll trade you.” Georgie appears out of a door to his left, holding some folded clothes. She holds out a hand for his binder and he instinctively tightens his grip. Her expression softens when she notices. “Jon.”

“Georgie.” Her name feels familiar on his tongue, even though he suddenly realizes that this is the first time he’s spoken it since arriving here.

“Come on, I need to wash that, too. I’ll even do it first so you can have it back quickly.” She’s still holding out her hand expectly. He just stares at it.

Jon knows it’s irrational, knows he’s acting like a petulant child. Hell, he’s the one that showed up to Georgie’s place unannounced. Still, he simply can’t bring himself to drop the binder into her hands. He needs something familiar, something that’s still his, and that steady pressure across his chest has always been calming, grounding in a way that he needs more than ever right now. 

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud until Georgie says, “Jon, I love you, but I can smell that thing from here. I can get you an old sports bra in the meantime? I still have one of the white ones you liked.” 

He knows what she’s referring to, of course. Back in their uni days, Jon would come back from class, wheezing a little from the walk across campus to her dorm. At first, it took some convincing, but after a while Jon would actually remember unprompted to give his lungs a little break. He only owned two sports bras during those days, one that stayed in perpetuity at Georgie’s dorm (and now, in her flat, apparently).

Instead of saying something sensible like ‘Good idea, Georgie’, or ‘Thank you for thinking of that, Georgie’, or even ‘Georgie, you are a saint among women for letting me into your flat while I was covered in blood’, what actually comes out of Jon’s mouth is “Why on earth do you still have that?”

To her credit, she laughs. He blinks in confusion and she takes that opportunity to snatch the binder straight from his hand. There’s a moment where he considers trying to grab it back but sighs and mutters “Fine.” 

Smiling triumphantly, she hands him the clean clothes and bends down to pick up the rest of his laundry. “There’s a brush in the top right drawer.” She says before disappearing again. 

He gets dressed (sans sports bra) in what he quickly realizes are a pair of his own sweatpants from uni and one of Georgie’s _What the Ghost_ t-shirts that’s a size too large for him. He finds the brush easily enough, but after few pulls through his knotted hair, he’s already tired. He sits down on the closed toilet lid and puts his head in his hands. 

Georgie knocks politely before entering. “Found it.” She says, dropping the sports bra onto the counter. 

Jon snatches at it immediately, again too overcome with relief to care too much about taking the shirt off in front of her. He’s relieved to find that it still fits (though it’s somewhat loose, like the sweatpants) and a shaky exhale escapes his mouth. He can feel himself crashing, the adrenaline that got him here quickly wearing off. 

“Let me brush your hair?” Georgie asks, holding up the plastic brush.

For some reason, _this_ is what breaks him. He feels the tears running down his face before he even registers that he’s crying. She drops the brush quickly, her calm demenour finally breaking. “Jon? Oh my god, was that—did I do something wrong?” 

“I’m sorry, Georgie, I’m sorry” He repeats into his hands, shoulders shaking. “I just, I, something happened at work and I think I’ve lost my job now, and now I’m trapped in something that I can’t get out of, and—” He feels his words getting faster and faster, tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

“Jon, _Jon_ , breathe. It’s okay.” Georgie says, kneeling onto the tile in front of him. “Focus on me, okay? Don’t think about whatever happened, just deep breaths right now.” 

Jon does his best, drawing in shaky inhales and exhales as Georgie takes his hand and rubs circles into the back of it. The image of Leitner’s dead body keeps worming it’s way unbidden into his mind but he does his best to push it away, focusing instead on Georgie’s face. 

When he finally calms down (or as close as he can be to calm given what his life has turned into), he immediately looks away, staring at a crack in the wall over Georgie’s head. “I’m sorry. I wasn't...You were the only person that I could think of that I could trust right now.”

“Jon, I don’t understand what exactly you’re in right now, but it’s not, like, illegal is it?” Georgie asks, then drops her voice. “Did you kill someone?” 

“No, no I didn’t.” Jon shakes his head. It sounds outrageous even to his ears but he can’t exactly fault her for coming to that conclusion. “It’s not illegal either, but it’s...it’s complicated. I don’t know how much I can really tell you. I just...I need somewhere to stay for a while. Just until this whole thing runs it’s course.” 

“Okay.” Georgie says. “Okay, you can stay. But you _are_ going to tell me what’s going on. Trust me, whatever it is, I’ve heard worse.” 

Jon doesn’t believe her (at least for now, he doesn’t), but he nods. 

Georgie finally struggles to her feet. “Alright, come on. I’m going to brush your hair while we watch Toy Story 3 or something.” She says in that matter-of-fact way that Jon has missed so, so much. 

Jon pulls the t-shirt back over his head. “How about the Lion King?”

She leads him back out into her flat. Having been somewhat in shock before, he now actually takes a minute to look around. She has a nice kitchen and an even nicer living room, with a comfy looking couch and a good-sized television. On the wall over the couch is a photo of Georgie and a skinny woman he doesn’t recognize wearing matching headphones with LED cat ears. Hanging next to the photo is a shiny plaque that he can only assume is some sort of award for her podcast. 

Also on the couch is a fluffy white and black mass that lifts its head when they enter.

The Admiral mews at Jon when he walks over and it takes everything he has to not start crying again. Sniffing at Jon’s outstretched hand for a moment, The Admiral lets out an even louder series of meows, jumping down from the couch to rub against his legs. 

“Ah, I missed you too. You’re so fluffy now, aren’t you?” He scratches the cat behind the ears and is rewarded with appreciative purring. 

Georgie snickers from her place on the floor, rummaging through a box filled with CD cases. “Your voice has dropped so much since uni, but hearing you do the kitty voice never changes.” 

“Yes, well, we can’t all do vocal therapy, can we.” He sits down on the couch, which does turn out to be wildly comfortable. The Admiral jumps up next to him and settles in his lap. 

“You said the Lion King, yeah?” 

He nods. 

“Normally I would make fun of you because it’s just Hamlet with animals and your inner theater kid is showing, but I won’t because I know you’re going through a tough time right now.” Georgie informs him, popping a disk into the DVD player and fiddling with a remote for a few moments before the title screen pops up.

“Thank you for your kindness.” Jon says dryly, frowning at her. She sticks her tongue out and for a brief moment they’re back in her dorm, watching movies on her floor at 2 AM after another round of particularly difficult exams. 

The spell is broken when she offers him a drink and he wavers for a moment before telling her to choose. She disappears into the kitchen and comes back with two filled wine glasses, setting them both down on the coffee table.

“We’re talking about,” Georgie waves her hand up and down in the air, gesturing at him, “ _this_ whole thing tomorrow. But for right now, I think I would like to watch some elephants sing about a baby lion.”

Jon actually laughs at this while she’s clicking play on the remote. It feels good to laugh. 

They rearrange with Jon sitting on the floor, The Admiral in his lap, and Georgie cross-legged on the couch behind him. She runs the brush gently through his hair, combing out the knots. He closes his eyes, listening to the familiar sounds of the movie and a soft voice singing along quietly. 

(The next morning Georgie makes fun of him for falling asleep before the second song and for being so light that she was able to set him on the couch without waking him. Jon frowns at her but she just laughs and informs him that his binder is hanging in the bathroom.)

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i am jane prentiss and kudos/comments are a wasp nest in my attic (i love and am consumed by them)  
> find me on tumblr @ ravenships :--)


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